


I Only Want To Be With You

by bryonyashley



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Gaby is awesome, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-11-30 00:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11452335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bryonyashley/pseuds/bryonyashley
Summary: Napoleon didn’t expect Waverly to show up at their apartment. Clearly something was wrong. He had entered the room, eyes wandering as if he was still trying to figure out what to do, then he’d cleared his throat, and in a gentle, measured voice, informed him that Agent Kuryakin was MIA as a consequence of the explosion of the Stinson V-77 aircraft in which he was flying with a THRUSH agent.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Shout-out to my wonderful beta [RileyC ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RileyC) ♥, inaccuracies are all mine. Thank you to everyone who reads and likes my stuff, it really means a lot to me. ♥

********

**Athens - April 5, 1964**

 

Napoleon turned off the television after hearing a sudden knock on the door of the big, old apartment where they were staying during this mission. He was expecting to see Gaby, in a chatty mood and ready to go play at owning a small newpaper kiosk on Kolokotroni Street. He would be playing her Italian and very jealous husband. Illya was going to contact them there as usual when he would be back from Istanbul with news about the THRUSH arms he was investigating undercover.

Napoleon didn’t expect Waverly to show up at their apartment. Clearly something was wrong. He had entered the room, eyes wandering as if he was still trying to figure out what to do, then he’d cleared his throat, and in a gentle, measured voice, informed him that Agent Kuryakin was MIA as a consequence of the explosion of the Stinson V-77 aircraft in which he was flying with a THRUSH agent.

Napoleon had frozen on the spot, feeling breathless, feeling as if he had been stabbed in the gut. _No. Cannot be._ Not now that Illya had left his fingerprints all over his body and soul, not now that Illya was finally _**his**._ Fuck! He swallowed hard. “Did the agents find any evidence?” he had asked when the silence had grown awkward. “His body….” he continued and put down the glass of scotch he was drinking, looking cool and distant, only the trembling of his hand betraying the turmoil he was feeling inside.

“Er…no, I am afraid not, Solo. The plane exploded off the coast in an extended area of Mar Egeo and only scrap metal from the plane crash has surfaced. All the rest is undersea and there’s no way we can send people to check. We need to find out--”

“No! This is bullshit. I don’t believe it!” Napoleon had exclaimed, losing it, and he couldn’t care the less. “He must be somewhere….alive.” He’d walked out the living room then and retreated to the refuge of his bedroom, slamming the door behind himself. Waverly just sat down on the couch with a sympathetic sigh, waiting for Gaby.

Napoleon was leaning against the door, eyes closed, a lump in the throat, his heart clenching at the thought of Illya’s body floating lifeless in the water, like he had seen him months before in the Italian sea. He hadn’t be there this time, to rescued him. _Peril…_ He started to laugh a nervous laughter, thinking of a bottle of red wine and an Italian love song, hand rubbing his face. _No_ , he was screaming inside, it couldn’t end like this.

****

**Rome - January 1, 1964**

 

“All right, I’ll admit it, this new Dior tuxedo really made you stand out at the party,” conceded Gaby, closing the door behind them, and watching Napoleon carefully remove his jacket and placing it on the hanger.

“Thank you, Gaby. The women seemed to appreciate it,” he smiled, not surprised at all.

“And a fair number of men, I’d say. Sadly for me, also the blond guy with a Rolex I was trying to lure my way,” she pouted, dropping her tiny silver purse on the loveseat. Apparently their file about Dimitri Dukas missed an important piece of info: their target was homosexual. When Napoleon had recognized ‘the problem’ he had taken over Gaby’s place on the mission.

“Our dear Dimitri…” he threw a probing gaze into Illya’s direction. Gaby knew about him being a ‘switch hitter’ and he wondered if Illya had had any clue, before that night. The Russian had removed his double-breasted peacoat and was standing against the bookcase with crossed arms, looking at him with an annoyed look on his face. He sighed. ”Quite a surprising guy, isn’t he?” he continued, bringing out the aforementioned Rolex from a pocket of his slacks and placing it on the writing desk.

“Indeed. Ah, I should have imagined!” commented Gaby, looking down at the watch. ”Mmm…what else did you get from him?” she asked then with a wink.

“Tsk tsk, you are being a naughty girl now, dear Gaby,” smiled Napoleon. He poured himself a finger of scotch and drank it it all. He took a pen from the desk and wrote something on a note.

“Enough!” exclaimed Illya all of a sudden. “We are here for a mission and...”

“Are you jealous, Peril?” suggested Napoleon watching him with a mischievous gaze, and it was unclear of who exactly he should be jealous of.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Cowboy,” replied Illya sternly.

“There’s a mystery left unsolved….”started Gaby with a sleepy yawn.

“A mystery?” asked Napoleon, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

“Apparently someone cut the tires of Dimitri’s Jaguar with a knife, while you were…busy,” she explained.

Strangely enough Illya’s cheeks went pink. “Jokes of drunk people…it happens at those New Year’s party,” stated the russian.

“Really? Poor Dimitri. Well, you know the proverb ‘lucky in love …” said Napoleon with a smug expression. His gaze met Illya’s, whose azure eyes had never left him.

“Lucky in love… “ mocked Illya. ”идиот,” he muttered.

“I heard you,“ said Napoleon getting even closer to the Russian. “You know…you didn’t really need to bug me or…listen to us. Were you curious? ”he said, and looked at him questioningly while he removed his bow tie and took out the little device hidden in it.

“You always get in troubles…it was a precaution,“ retorted Illya.

“Well, as I am sure you know…no troubles, just fun under the mistletoe. But I appreciate the sentiment,” replied Napoleon, earnestly. “Next time you should try that too. I mean…relax a bit, enjoy the company,” he smiled at him seductively. Illya was strangely silent, looking at him with an unreadable expression on his face and Napoleon had to restrain himself, not to lean up and kiss him. Kiss that stupid mouth even if it could mean having few broken bones, but oh, the satisfaction of finally eliciting a crystal clear reaction, of finding out what Peril was really thinking, feeling, now that he was aware of his tendencies. “Anyway…here’s the safe combination,” added Napoleon, handing him the note, fingers lingering over Illya’s.

Illya didn't jerk away from his touch. “Everything is just a fun game to you,” he had said then, voice surly and like a bucket of cold water in Napoleon’s face.

 _Oh, so that’s it._ “And you are always so damn tense about everything, it’s an annoying habit,” he snapped back.

“Boys behave!” Gaby sighed. Four months together in UNCLE and these fools were still acting like children. She definitely deserved a pay rise just for having to keep playing mother to them.

****

**Athens - April 5, 1964**

 

Napoleon didn’t know how much time he might have been standing there, leaning against the door, thinking of Illya’s rare smiles, his big hands possessively pinning him down on bed, the surprising sweetness of his kisses, the stubbornness of his mind.

Suddenly he realized someone was calling him from the other side of the door, he looked at his image reflected in the mirror in front of him and tried to regain some composure, biting his lower lip. His eyes still burned from unshed tears.

He opened the door and Gaby was there, tears and mascara running down her cheeks. She was silently looking at Napoleon with knowing eyes. She could read him, she knew, she knew how much he was hurting. He grabbed her in a tight embrace. They were together in this, he and Gaby, this tiny, tough girl that had become like a sister to him.

“He is not dead!” she had exclaimed searching Napoleon’s face. “He is alive. Don’t listen to them, we need to find him!”

They could make it, they could find Illya.

********

**Paris - February 14, 1964**

 

“So Peril…What have you bought to Gaby?” questioned Napoleon, and it was just that, a genuine question. Well, in truth he wanted to know once and for all if Illya and Gaby were _doing it_ or not. The two of them spent a lot of off time together but he had never seen anything between them that could be interpreted as more than friendly behavior. No hints of sexual tension between them, not that Napoleon could see. Not to mention Gaby’s mind often seemed elsewhere lately. Nor had Illya ever shown any interest in any women that ever crossed his path, which always made Napoleon think that Peril could be...a little on the bent side.

“I have not bought anything,” answered Illya moving the king piece backwards on the chessboard, “Valentine's Day is just commercialism, capitalistic stuff.”

“Come on, Peril, after all we are in Paris, the city of love. Just show your love to Gaby with a little present, nothing capitalistic about that,” he tried.

“And what have you bought to her, Cowboy?” snapped back Illya. “Isn’t in the American tradition the day of friendship too?”

Damn, his trick didn’t work. “Indeed. Does that mean you bought something for me, Peril?” he joked.

Illya went silent, eyes avoiding Napoleon’s gaze. “Friendship should be valued more, it is not about buying silly gifts.”

That moment Gaby entered the living room. “Guys, I’m not having dinner at the restaurant with both of you tonight, people will think we are in a love triangle or something,” she announced with a fake pompous look on her face.

“And ‘what a lucky girl’, everybody would think.” commented Napoleon with a smirk, “I wouldn’t miss this chance if I were you.”

Illya just rolled his eyes.

It was only hours later, when the three of them were back in Gaby’s living room, listening to the radio, drinking too much and chatting freely about the mission, old Valentine’s stories and everything in between, that Napoleon realized how much they had become attached to each other, through difficult times and authentic family-like moments in between missions like this one. _How dangerous is that?_ _How much is going to last?_

“Oh, I love this song!” exclaimed Gaby suddenly, raising the radio volume, starting to dance and singing aloud, a silly, happy look on her face.

 

> _I don't know what it is that makes me love you so_
> 
> _I only know I never want to let you go_
> 
> _'Cause you've started something_
> 
> _Oh, can't you see?_
> 
>  

Illya was looking at Gaby, smiling wide, a bit drunk and loosened up like Napoleon hadn’t seen him in ages. He was beautiful and it made his heart ache.

Gaby reached Illya, grabbed his hand and pulled him up from the couch to dance with her. Illya complied, curiously looking back at Napoleon and making a face.

 _I’m a fool and maybe I should drink myself stupid_ , Napoleon mocked himself, watching them. They were a sweet sight. He stood up and announced, ”Time for me to retire to my room, I’d think. ”

 

> _That ever since we met_
> 
> _You've had a hold on me_
> 
> _It happens to be true_
> 
> _I only want to be with you_

 

“You wish!” exclaimed Gaby, moving towards him, dragging Illya with one hand.

 

> _You stopped and smiled at me_
> 
> _And asked if I'd care to dance_
> 
> _I fell into your open arms_
> 
> _And I didn't stand a chance_
> 
>  

She took Napoleon’s hand in her own and started moving, inviting him to dance with them. Napoleon shook his head at the utter silliness of it but decided to indulge her. All at once Gaby swirled backwards and he found himself facing Illya, so damn close he could feel his breath caressing his face and _God_ the way Peril was looking at him in that moment, pupils dilated and lips parted. It was _want_ , he could see it, feel it tingling against his skin and these mixed signals were driving him crazy. He wanted to push Illya against the wall and kiss him, taste the vodka in his mouth, feel the texture of his skin under his fingers, find all the ways to make him moan and so much more _and do you want this, Peril, I can’t decide it for you._

 

> _No matter what you do_
> 
> _I only want to be with you_
> 
> _I said no matter, no matter what you do_
> 
> _I only want to be with you_
> 
>  


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s going on with Illya? He is always hiding in his room lately, like a little boy who’s been punished,” said Gaby.
> 
> Napoleon sighed. “I have no idea. Maybe he misses Russia, maybe he is done with UNCLE … _maybe he’s done with me_.”

********

**Kavala - April 6, 1964**

 

In the end, Waverly didn’t blindly accept the given evidence, and after a great deal of phone calls he got his hands on an important file from CIA which provided photographic evidence that a helicopter was there not much later after the explosion had occurred. There was also info about a member of IDEA ***¹** seen at the Alexandroupoli airport where Illya and the THRUSH agent had landed from Istanbul. There, a car was expecting them with directions to Kavala where a private plane was ready to fly them back to Athens with the arms shipment. Waverly was convinced that IDEA agents had infiltrated this operation, “…fouling up months of our work, but we know quite well that these things can happen, don’t we?” he reminded them.

“So he is being held captive by this secret organization?“ exclaimed Gaby.

Napoleon was trying to remember; IDEA was a name he already had heard.

“Ieros Desmos Ellinon Axiomatikon or Sacred Bond of Greek Officers it is ...”

“…..an anti-communist underground CIA organization!” Napoleon interrupted, furious. If Sanders was implicated in this he was going to kill him with his bare hands.

“That is not proved Mr. Solo,” Waverly cautioned in a firm voice. ”As I was explaining, IDEA is an anti-communist paramilitary organization formed by officers in the Greek army during the Civil War and still very active. Apparently our Kuryakin has been recognized as a KGB agent trying to buy armaments and as such, a danger to their recent cause so they had to … neutralize it.."

“Did they put the explosive on the plane? Checked the explosion from the helicopter?” theorized Napoleon.

“Ah yes, yes Solo, I think so. And they rescued Kuryakin afterwards, in hopes of gaining information from him or ...else.“

“So you are sure Illya is…still alive?” Gaby asked cautiously.

“Well, I got information that a Russian is held by in a Military Base on the Lemnos Island and I asked to see him.”

“And what did they require in exchange for this… favor?” questioned Napoleon.

“I'm positive we can work out a deal, Solo. That’s if our Kuryakin is still alive and well, which we all are hoping for.”

A few hours later, after flying to Kavala, they all were on board a helicopter with other UNCLE agents, headed in the direction of Myrina, Lemnos Island.

 

********

**Paris - February 15, 1964**

 

“Can’t sleep, Peril?”

Illya almost jumped in surprise hearing that voice behind him at 3 a.m. He turned around to see Napoleon’s piercing eyes gazing at him from the doorframe of his bedroom; he was wearing a semi open silk robe, chest on display, barefoot, hair a bit messed up and curly, gorgeous as ever.

He didn’t look like someone who was sleeping, he looked like a panther ready to strike and he thought Cowboy had someone waiting for him in his room, in his bed, _probably that interpreter from Holland_ , and a pang of jealousy hit him.

He took a deep breath, “Headache,” he replied, getting back to pouring a glass of water and swallowing an aspirin with it.

“You mixed too much alcohol, last evening,” Napoleon reminded him quietly.

He had. Probably more than in the last two years. _It was Valentine's day after all_ , he sneered himself, thinking of the night before.

 

_Gaby was singing happily, he was drunk and light-headed, and Napoleon was looking strangely unguarded as if something was bothering him, his usual conceited façade missing._

_When the three of them were dancing together, Gaby had swirled, and Illya had found himself facing Napoleon, so close he felt lost in his questioning eyes and was suddenly too conscious of Cowboy's body, the way his shirt hung up on his biceps, the fragrance of his spicy expensive aftershave, how the tip of his tongue was wetting the bottom lip, and the want had overwhelmed him._

_He almost laughed at the irony....the cold hearted Russian killing machine, who couldn't cope with his insane attraction for his American partner, torn between desire and years of brainwashing against 'capitalistic pigs'. Then the song had stopped and Gaby had called it a night , yawning and almost falling asleep on them and all he could think was, nyet, not going to be another of Cowboy’s pastimes._

_“Illya…” had called Napoleon in the hallway, voice soft like a caress on his skin. And he hated himself for wanting to hear more of that voice, hear him say other words, whisper intimate things. He had just resolutely pretended not to hear, quickly disappearing into the refuge of his room without looking back. He wanted the impossible, he wanted a piece of Napoleon's heart._

 

“Illya…listen…” Napoleon tried, _come on Peril, we need to clear things up_.

“Goodnight, Cowboy,” murmured Illya turning off the light, heading to his bedroom.

 

********

**Lemnos - April 6, 1964**

 

Illya woke up with a choking sensation and started to cough to get rid of it. He tried to move, his head was heavy and everything was spinning around him. Containment belts were securing his wrist, waist and ankles on the bed where he was lying, in a place that looked like an abandoned room underground. He closed his eyes and tried to calm down, he was dazed and aching everywhere but his brain was functioning.

They were flying back toward Athens with their arms shipment, he remembered, when suddenly the guy they called Alexandros had checked something in the tail of the plane and then he was arguing with the pilot talking in Greek and the next thing Illya knew is that he had a gun pointed to his head. Have they found out he was a spy? How?

There had been a fight between them and a gunshot had hit the pilot. The plane had begun to plummet to a lower altitude in an instant, and he had just the time to jump out the hatch and into the sea before the plane had exploded. Then the dark. Someone must have rescued him. THRUSH? _But the plane had exploded, it doesn't make sense.._

********

**London – March 2, 1964**

 

“…we must prevent that such weapons get into the wrong hands, the risk is quite strong now with the political events, Turkey and the Cyprus problem. So….Kuryakin, you will infiltrate the organization as a sympathizer, looking to buy armaments. Miss Teller this time will play Carla Bonetti, wife of hot-blooded italian Angelo Bonetti, our Mr Solo here, “ said Alexander Waverly, “They own a newspaper kiosk, a secure place where Kuryakin will contact you every time he needs to. Here are the files,” he added, handing them over. ”Check them tonight, question me tomorrow. Brief at nine am, ”concluded Waverly. Then with a nod and a smile he left their suite.

“Italian, yes, but hot-blooded?”commented Gaby five minutes later, looking at Napoleon skeptically.

“I am wounded, ” replied Napoleon, sitting on the couch in front of her, looking anything but.

“Are we going to argue for the neighbors to listen to us? Looks like you are a typical jealous southern Italian!” exclaimed Gaby with an amused look on her face. “It's going to be fun. Illya, what do you think?” she asked the grumpy Russian sitting beside her.

It was weeks since Illya had begun acting weird, collaborative when necessary but mostly avoiding them. Well, mostly avoiding Napoleon.

“I am in my room,” was all he said before disappearing.

“What’s going on with Illya? He is always hiding in his room lately, like a little boy who’s been punished,” said Gaby.

Napoleon sighed. “I have no idea. Maybe he misses Russia, maybe he is done with UNCLE … _maybe he’s done with me_.”

“Uhm… It’s weeks since he’s been like that. I tried to find out what happened but you know Illya, he looks at you with big hungry eyes and keeps his mouth shut. So…what have you done to him?”

“I have done nothing to him." Napoleon sprang from the couch and headed to the drink’s cabinet “Why do you always presume it is my fault? ” he sighed in exasperation, pouring two fingers of scotch in a glass.

“Because you are always taunting him and whatever is going on between you two…and you know what I mean, Solo, I’m not blind,“ she exclaimed with a peeved stare, “must be resolved before the mission start.”

Gaby was right, of course, it was sort of annoying how well she could read them, be the voice of reason, but Napoleon was feeling at an impasse. Illya’s ‘leave me alone’ message was clear but he was hoping with time things between them could be back to their ‘normal’. It was for the best after all, just work, no feelings, but apparently they were at a dead end. _No feelings… who am I fooling?_ He was so taken by Illya that he had even declined clear invitations for sex between missions. _What for? Idiot…_

He was about to reply to Gaby, _there's only an option left, corner him_ , when Illya returned to the living room.

“Solo, you better think about what I told you,” said Gaby. Illya looked at them with a puzzled expression and she winked at him before taking her purse and leaving.

“I don’t understand your role in this mission,” grumbled Illya.

“I see. Keeping an eye on you?” suggested Napoleon, sipping his drink. “We are a team, Peril. Already sick of us? Or just...sick of me and ready to ask for a transfer,“ he speculated nonchalantly.

Illya swallowed. “What are you talking about?”

“Gaby thinks that we have a problem, me and you. Do we have a problem, Peril? Because when the mission starts, we need to rely on each other and I'm not sure I can trust you right now,” he said, putting down his glass and moving towards Illya with a suppressed sigh.

“What? Of course you can trust me.” Illya frowned, backing up an involuntary step and bumping against the door of his room.

“Can I? You keep avoiding me like you are afraid working with me is going to turn you into…what exactly? A pervert?” he probed, too many unspoken words between them. "How do you call people like me in Russia?"

Illya was watching at him silently, shaking his head slowly, feeling guilt and anger rising in his chest.

“No? This…thing, this spark between us. You feel it and I feel it. Is that the problem, Peril?" ventured Napoleon, his gaze never leaving Illya’s eyes, "Maybe you feel ...scared… not willing to make a difficult choice. I can understand that, I do. But don’t you dare to put the blame on me,“ he added bitterly, finger pointing.

Illya smacked away Napoleon’s hand, gaze furious and azure eyes like a summer morning sky.

“Are you going to hit me? Are we at it again?” said Napoleon not even flinching.

When Illya moved, Napoleon was ready for a fight. He didn’t expect the Russian to grasp the back of his neck to pull him up for a kiss, lips desperately licking his mouth open, _I want you to be mine, stupid Cowboy_. And Illya thought he might have said it out loud.

Napoleon gave in to the kiss, moaning softly into Illya's mouth, giving back and fighting for control, wrapping his arms around him.

“Not scared, “ whispered Illya when they parted, nibbling at Napoleon’s ear and jawline, sending shivers through him, holding his body against him.

“I think I got that,” quipped Napoleon feeling dazzled. “Then what's going on on this stubborn head of yours?” he inquired, hands pushing on Illya's shoulders, searching his eyes. “I was feeling totally dismissed.”

“You sleep around too much! Even on Valentine’s night,” started Illya with an annoyed look on his face, “But you are not allowed anymore,” he cut short and this time it was him pointing a finger to Napoleon.

Napoleon smiled to himself at Illya's words, _so you were jealous,_ “I was alone on Valentine’s night, Peril," he said fondly, hoping Illya would understand he was not fooling around with him. " I couldn’t sleep thinking about a certain Russian who was driving me crazy.”

“I couldn’t sleep too…. “

“And thinking about me gave you a headache?” Napoleon almost sulked. “When I think about you I get a _very different reaction_ ,” he grinned suggestively, “but I know a very pleasing technique to get rid of a headache,” added Napoleon, grabbing the handle of Illya’s bedroom door and pushing it open.

“You always talk too much...” Illya silenced him, kissing him thoroughly, grabbing his shirt and pulling him inside his room. Napoleon didn't talk for a long awhile.

********

**Lemnos – April 6, 1964**

 

“They had to sedate him. Twice. Apparently he overturned the bed he was on and freed himself from the wrist belts with a piece of the radiator before they blocked him,” explained Commander Lincoln, quite impressed, to Alexander Waverly.

They turned around towards the infirmary bed to see Napoleon and Gaby standing on each side , both keeping hold of Illya's hands, the russian still deeply asleep. Waverly was quite amused by the sight.

He amicably put one hand on Commander Lincoln's shoulder, gently guiding him outside the room, "So...what we were saying about Mr Khrushchev..." he prompted, closing the door behind himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) IDEA - Ieros Desmos Ellinon Axiomatikon or Sacred Bond of Greek Officers was a anti-communist secret paramilitary organization with right-wing sympathies created in the days of WWII. Monarchy and the CIA has been said to be supporter of said organization.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic is from Dusty Springfield's namesake song.


End file.
